Ghosts of Winter

When rain drops sleep,
they dream they are snowflakes,
spiky ghosts swirling, snagging,
in a blue wash of light.
Phantom shards talking, singing
in haunted vapor tones,
bringers, bestowers, companions of frost,
echoes of an Ice Age,
crystallized resurrection,
harbingers of its return.
When snowflakes sleep,
they dream of glaciers,
paralyzed water,
a cracking, spreading sheet
seizing our freshly silent world,
hail-hammered, hushed,
encased in a bubble of glass.

©Jeff Fiorito 2014